Can't Play Jazz With No Soul
by ThePioden
Summary: A down-on-his-luck nobody from New Orleans strikes a deal with the devil. From The Princess and the Frog.


The young man sitting on the curb barely even flinched when the passing car sprayed him with dirty mud. Not that it was noticeable; he'd been sitting on the same curb through last night's downpour that made the puddles in the first place.

He tried for a moment to muster the energy to punch the ground, but it didn't come. _That old bass was all I had..._ And now the bank had it, and here he was on a curb, evicted, hungry, and not a penny or a guitar pick to his name. _Maybe she's better off this way. Not like I've got a home to go to, bad for the wood out in all this wet, not like I could afford strings either..._ He would not cry, he would _not_ cry.

"What's your troubles, child?" The voice had an oily, cajoling tone.

The young man looked up sharply. Suit, rich purple shirt, stick, top hat. Skull decal. He scowled.

"Leave me be, Shadow Man, ain't like I can pay for your voodoo anyhow."

The voodoo man seemed undaunted. "Ain't always money I's lookin' for." He leaned down to whisper in the younger man's ear. "What if I said you could get that shiny new double bass you want, without payin' a cent?"

The young man spun to stare. "They don't go givin' out double basses for _free_."

The voodoo man extended a hand. "Never said nothin' about ifree/i, boy. Said you won't pay a cent. Not one single penny." The young man took the proffered hand, and was hauled to his feet. "Tell me, child, what's your name?"

The young man met those grinning purple eyes. "Myde."

***

Myde would not hesitate to admit that Dr. Facilier's little voodoo shop made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. There was nothing at all wholesome about the place, and he could iswear/i the shadows were moving wrong.

"Sit, boy! Sit and relax, let me work my magic."

Myde took a seat at the small table in the back with great trepidation. "You said this weren't free."

The Shadow Man shushed him. "That time'll come when it comes. Relaaaaax, let me take a look at what your future will be. You wanna know, don't you?"

"Y-yeah, but-"

The Shadow Man spread three cards on the table. "Past," he said, flipping the first.

"That's me!"

The Shadow Man smirked. "Knight of Wands. You're a dreamer child, full of passion." He flipped the second. "Present. Eight of Swords. Desperate, trapped by this world with nowhere to go." The smirk widened. "Future." He flipped the final card. The image on it showed Myde in a flowing black robe, some sharp, spiky shape held in his hand, his expression curiously blank. "Death-"

"Whoa!" Myde made to stand up. "I'm not signin' on for _death_, mister. It ain't _that_ bad yet!"

A strong, spidery hand gripped his arm, tugging him back down. "On the contrary, child! Death is a good card for the future, a good card indeed." Myde's backside hit the chair. The shadows on Facilier's face sunk his eyes, hollowed his cheeks. Like a skull. The light flickered. "Transformation." He extended his hand again, his voice low. "Shake on it boy. I'll make you a new man."

Myde reached out tentatively, and gripped those bony fingers.

The world exploded.

***

Myde struggled his way out of the riot of sound and colour to find him self on all fours, shivering on the floor of Dr. Facilier's shop, his breathing coming in ragged pants.

"What- what _happened?_ What did you _do_?"

The Shadow Man smiled, slow and easy like an oil slick. "I got you your fiddle, child."

Myde looked up. In the Shadow Man's hands was the most peculiar instrument Myde had ever seen. It was the right size for a double bass, in a vibrant blue. But it was only three stringed, a strange, spiky shape that had no chance of resonating right.

Myde had never wanted an instrument so much in his life.

He scrambled to his feet, reached out for the blue creation. Facilier let him take it, pluck a chord. It was perfectly in tune.

"It's _perfect,_" he murmured wonderingly.

The Shadow Man laughed, not unkindly. "I looked down into your soul, and my friends on the Other Side," he gestured to the masks on the wall, "made a fiddle to fit."

"I-" He stopped. "What do I owe you?" Myde asked in a much smaller voice.

The Shadow Man patted him on the shoulder in a fatherly way. "It's all paid for, child. It's yours for the takin'."

Myde's eyes went comically wide before he broke into an absolutely dazzling grin. "Oh, _thank you_, you have no idea, I- I'm-_ thank you._" He whirled out of the shop, plucking at strings.

Facilier's friendly grin turned dark as the door banged shut. He turned to the masks on his wall, opening his hand. Somehow, the masks looked hungry. "Don't say I never bring you nothin' nice," murmured the Shadow Man, as Myde's bright, glowing heart swirled up and away, lost to the shadows.


End file.
